Could We Begin Again?
by darthsydious
Summary: Tumblr 250 follower fic giveaway. kelseyrare requested: a victorian Mythea where they've already got an established relationship and telling heir children about how their arranged marriage was first proposed and declined by both sides. I changed a few things about this, I just could not work the kids into this fic, I'm sorry, but it is how Mycroft and Anthea end up together.


Violet Holmes was a determined woman. She was determined to have grandchildren by her first son, and if he would not take matters into his hands, then she would jolly well help him along. After the death of her beloved Sigurd, Violet had stepped back and let Mycroft take charge of the house, as was his right, but the house was far too large, far too quiet, and far too empty. With Sherlock in London now, and Mycroft away in the city for most of the week, the big house was lonesome. Besides, she'd promised Sigurd the family line would not stop with their children. She hosted annual parties at the start of the season, Mycroft attended dutifully as master of the house, probably knowing his mother was searching for an eligible wife for him. He did not know, however, that she had found one, and that she and the Whittaker family were already making arrangements for such an occasion. He happened upon her scheme and confronted her, in the usual Holmes way, which was to burst into her study while she was writing her letters for the day.

"What are you doing, Mother?" he asked.

"Writing, I'd thought that was rather obvious."

"Not to Lady Anthea Whittaker, I trust." Violet looked up, the picture of innocence.

"Not today, dear boy, why? I saw you danced with her last Saturday evening." There was hope in her voice.

"Because I have already written to her-" his mother smiled, delighted, but he continued: "-naturally to reject this entire silly affair."

"Mycroft," she countered. "I don't see why this shouldn't work. She's young, eligible, and very pretty, not that such a thing matters to you. You understand your role in this family, you need an heir. You refuse to go about finding a wife, so I shall. I'm merely taking the step you so hate to take, and sorting it all out."

"Without consulting me, mother!" Mycroft fumed.

"You seemed fond enough of the young woman."

"The young woman is not the issue; the issue is your meddling!" Mycroft snapped. "I expect you've already invited them to dinner?"

"Yes, I have,"

"Well then you'll have to entertain them, I'm afraid I'm dining out." Mycroft headed for the door.

"You ought to write to your fiancée and let her know then," Violet called. Mycroft stopped where he was, slowly turning back.

"My what?"

"Your fiancée," Violet repeated, cool as a cucumber. "I told you, everything has been arranged."

"And what has Lady Anthea said about all this?"

"Nothing yet, I imagine she's beside herself at the prospect, her mother has already informed her," Violet said cheerfully. Mycroft very carefully drew himself to full height.

"Mother, you will not ever meddle in my personal life again, and what is more I refuse to go through with this ridiculous, old-fashioned buffoonery!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice to me, I am still your mother,"

"Yes," Mycroft interrupted. "And so I am going to London before I forget myself. Before this gets out of hand, you should know that I am not, nor will I ever propose to that young woman." With that he turned on his heel and left. Violet remained where she was, looking at the written invitations, then back to her eldest son's retreating form. Well. There was more than one way to skin a cat. If she hurried, her letter would be in London before luncheon.

 **Berkley Square, London**

"This just arrived for you, from Lord Holmes," Anthea sighed heavily at her mother's beaming smile.

"I told you, I'm not going tonight. He made his intentions abundantly clear in his earlier letter. Why would be write me again? To reject me twice?" The letter received earlier that morning lay open on her desk, Lord Mycroft Holmes' clear and utter abhorrance of the arranged marriage had left Anthea with a feeling of relief. Her mother had been contacted by Lady Holmes a week ago, and between the two of them, they'd arranged an engagement between their eldest children, without consulting either Anthea or Lord Holmes! Anthea was fuming, to say the least, and had already made up her mind to reject the man. She'd heard enough about Lord Holmes, the nickname among the House of Lords was not a particularly nice one, she'd heard her father refer to the elder Holmes as the 'Ice-Man'. If the letter she'd received from Lord Holmes was in truth, then she could quite understand how such a man had received that title. Anthea looked at the letter in her mother's outstretched hand, still waiting for her to take it. Her mother smiled.

"Well he's written again; perhaps he's changed his mind."

"'Changed his mind'," Anthea snorted. "A man like that does not change his mind in a matter of a few hours." Taking the letter with a grudging sigh, she wondered if Lord Holmes had written to rub salt into the wound. While she had not intended on accepting his proposal, a rejection was still hurtful, and Lord Holmes did not hold back for politeness sake. He had plainly stated there was no one more ill-suited to the Holmes name than her, and while her features were attractive, he did not imagine her figure to be one strong enough for bearing children. The list stopped there, and he did not apologize. He finished the letter by stating he would not, nor would he ever be hers and that he would not mention again the ridiculous farce of the arranged marriage if she wouldn't. That first letter solidified in Anthea's mind and heart just how sure she was of rejecting him. Such a cruel man was not worthy of her heart. With determination, she tore open the second letter, glancing at her mother.

"I don't suppose I'm allowed to read this privately?"

"Just this once," her mother allowed, smiling. "Tell me after if I'm to hold the post for you, should you want to send a reply to him."

Anthea waited for the door to close before pulling the letter from the envelope.

" _My dear Lady Anthea,_

 _I was abrupt in my first letter. I can imagine how cruel I sounded, and if you took offense I apologize. I was wrong to say those things, and I humbly beg your forgiveness. My mother interferes where she should not, and I took my anger out on you, and it was unfair of me. I am unused to a woman of your caliber being in my path and when I came to understand you were to be my wife I acted rashly. I can think of no other woman, no such beauty as you who could so effortlessly take on my family name. I understand you have a particular fondness for Victoria Park, and if you are agreeable, it would be my pleasure to meet you there this afternoon at two o'clock, where we might discuss our future together in an atmosphere that is more to your liking._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Mycroft Holmes."_

"Of all the-" Anthea threw the letter down, marching across her room to the wardrobe, yanking on the pull on the wall. If she was going to dress down Lord Mycroft Holmes, she wanted to look her best. In a few moments her maid came hurrying up, knocking lightly on the door as she entered.

"You wanted me, m'lady?"

"Yes, help me change, and then tell mother I'm going out, after I've gone."

"Out?" her maid repeated.

"Yes," Anthea was already yanking on the back of her gown, so the maid hurried to help. In a few moments the silk was tossed aside, and Anthea was being buttoned into a smart grey walking gown. No sooner was the hatpin in place had Anthea shoved her hands into her gloves, the maid wincing for the strain on the kidskin. Anthea snatched the letter off the bed, stuffing it into her purse as she hurried downstairs. Sincerely yours, indeed!

 **Victoria Park**

Mycroft Holmes wondered if his habits were too well-known to his colleagues. It was his habit after luncheon to take a turn about Victoria Park as it was one of the less-popular patches of green among the tourists. The paths were mostly unoccupied, and everyone within the gates kept within sight but usually well out of hearing, which was how Mycroft preferred. His reason for worrying that too many people knew about his habits was not unfounded, as at that moment Lady Anthea Whittaker was coming straight towards him, clearly something had upset her. Ah. So she had received his note. When they were within arms' length of each other both stopped. He tipped his hat to her.

"Lady Anthea. To what may I owe this pleasure?"

"I should like to know what you meant," she said.

"I had thought my letter had cleared that up."

"One would think, but I am afraid that your contradiction this afternoon has left me confused, and I mean to put an end to it once and for all, before it goes on any longer." She could see over his shoulder a couple moving slowly towards them. They had not yet noticed who was ahead of them. Mycroft, seeing where her gaze fell, removed his hat, and pointed with his umbrella across the lawn to a covered pavilion, somewhat hidden by shrubs and currently empty.

Once satisfied they were for the most part out of sight, she turned to face him. He appeared to be studying her, scrutinizing her appearance. She took a calming breath, folding her hands before her and squaring her shoulders.

"Lord Holmes, I apologize for having to waste so much of your day, but I am afraid I must reject your proposal."

"Reject me?" the glimmer in his eyes seemed dangerous, though the corners of his mouth quirked up. "That would be rather difficult as I have not proposed, and I have no intention of proposing." He tipped his hat to her and turned on his heel. There was a rustle of stiffly starched petticoats under taffeta, small cork heels clicking along the marble behind him. In a moment she was around him, walking backwards for a moment, eyes flashing. He stopped where he was, surprised at her behavior, but too so she would not be forced to continue backwards (he was still a gentleman, after all).

"No intention?" she asked. "Then what," she bent her head, digging through her purse. "Is this?" she held out a note, his address and monogram stamped on the envelope. "Stating your agreement to the arranged marriage and wish to discuss it further?"

"Obviously the stationary was filched from my desk by my meddling mother," Mycroft said. Anthea felt her face flush with shame. She looked at the opened letter in her hand.

"Then you did not write this?" she asked, her voice softer.

"No I am afraid not, sorry to disappoint. I imagine you shall still marry, Lady Anthea, but it shan't be to me, just as I too will take a wife, but it surely will not be you." Just as quickly as her face had reddened, the cold glare was back, and she schooled her emotions.

"Lord Holmes, I do apologize, I should have realized a man such as you is not capable of such handsome words." She made to turn, letter still in hand.

"A man such as me?" he asked. She turned, half facing him.

"Yes," he noted how she gripped the letter, as if ready to tear it once out of his sight. "They said you'd earned yourself a nickname, I thought it was a silly joke, calling a man from the House of Lords the 'Ice-man'. Still, I expect that's an admirable trait, living up to one's reputation in society. Never fear, sir, I shan't be troubling you any longer." With that she tilted her chin up, turned and swept out of sight. Mycroft listened as she tore up the letter, tossing it aside and hurrying down the steps to the walkway. Following after, he bent, finding the pieces of paper; he pocketed them and hurried away.

In the Diogenes Club, Mycroft entered his private room, locking the door behind him. Lighting the lamps, he fished through his pockets, retrieving the torn up letter and placing it on his desk. He was surprised to see an impressive mimicry of his handwriting. He was not surprised then, as to why Lady Anthea was so furious with him, though she had a right to be angry regardless. When he wrote to her that morning he was furious. His mother had gotten _that_ correct at least. Her down-fall had been in complimenting Anthea's beauty. It was a direct contradiction of his earlier, crueler statement, which Mycroft found himself regretting. He had met Lady Anthea once before, at the first ball of the season.

" _I am to open the ball," he said, once introductions were made. "If your first waltz is free would you do me the honor?"_

" _Certainly," she answered and he thanked her. They partnered well together, and conversation was not difficult. Still, no sparks flew, and when the waltz was over, he led her back to her mother and went off, his duty finished for the evening. He'd danced once, that was enough. She was a beautiful woman, but there were plenty of other beautiful women. Lady Anthea could not have been any different, so why couldn't he get her out of his head? From his study, the door cracked, he could see her moving about the ballroom floor, her mother pushing her at countless partners. He took pity on her by the fifth quadrille with a portly American senator and cut in, leading her away from the ballroom and to the balcony where she could catch her breath. Setting her on the bench, he excused himself and fetched a glass of claret for her. More polite conversation was made, and he was surprised to find how much she truly amused him. More than that, she was capable of holding intelligent conversation. When she was revived, he delivered her to her party and bowed away again, this time retreating upstairs for the night, well away from any sort of temptation. Of course she was tempting. She was a beautiful young woman, but that certainly didn't mean he had to court her, wed her and bed her. She certainly did not seem enamored with him either, which made his departure just as easy._

Mycroft rubbed his face, groaning. He was a fool, and he was angry. More than anything he was furious. Furious that his mother had taken matters into her own hands than if she had simply been content to wait, he most likely would have made up his mind that there were worse women than Anthea Whittaker. Now of course, that chance was gone, and he could not have further ruined his hopes than he already had. His mother had heard her letter had miserably failed, and seeing her son was upset, wisely left the matter alone. For once she did not pry, but she did apologize, and he accepted it. She was a woman, after all, and wanted grand children. He supposed he understood that. Pride was a terrible trait in the Holmes family, and Mycroft would bow to his own pride. He could very well apologize to Lady Anthea, now that their mothers were not conspiring against them. He could, but he knew her character quite well now, and she would have accepted it, but she would go no further. It was fortunate no one else knew of the (however brief) arranged marriage between them. From what his own spies told him, Lady Anthea was hardly a gossip, and kept mostly to herself. The company she kept was only due to her mother's connections, and she never said anything truly of consequence to them. The more he learned of her character, the more he admired her. He appreciated her strength in refusing to bend to her parent's wishes. That took courage, and he wondered if she was like some of the women beginning to take a stand for emancipation. She was nothing like the woman he assumed she was, and he wished he knew her better.

Mycroft stood with a groan. This was awful.

His mother had been right.

Anthea Whittaker _was_ a good match. Damn his pride.

For some weeks he threw himself into his work, unsure of how to proceed. He would apologize to Lady Anthea, but how? And when? It was not appropriate to go calling on her, she did not have his card, nor was he in possession of hers. Just as he was beginning to lose hope, his mother asked him to escort her to a party in London.

"Everyone will be there," Lady Holmes sighed, delighted. "I'd ask your brother, but he's busy on a case. One can only hope it will involve that lady friend of his, who is it?"

"Doctor Hooper, pathologist at St. Bartholomew's." Mycroft answered. "Yes, I shall escort you, there are bound to be people I know."

The following evening he took the usual care in how he dressed, thinking carefully on how he would approach Lady Anthea. He found himself fidgeting the whole way in the carriage. He disliked being so uneasy, and hoped it didn't show. If his mother noticed, she didn't say, merely went on with who among the elite would be there, and he murmured his responses to show he was still listening.

The ball was just getting underway when the Master of Ceremonies announced them, he dutifully led his mother to the circle of women she knew before moving to the card room and then through to the ballroom. He found Lady Anthea on the far wall, some distance from her mother. Still angry at her mother, no doubt.

"May I speak with you?" Anthea turned with a start, then seeing it was Lord Holmes, glanced at the ballroom.

"The music will start very soon now," she said.

"Then may I have your first waltz?"

"I'm afraid it's taken,"

"The second?" he asked.

"My card is nearly full,"

"Then the next free dance you have," he pressed. She nodded, wide-eyed, confused and suspicious. She was not lying when she said her card was nearly full. Mycroft sat out the first seven dances before her last partner led her back to the corner she'd stood at. Mycroft held a chair for her, and handed her a glass of sherry, waving off some waif of a boy intending to ask her to dance.

"I have a polka free," Anthea said at last, revived somewhat. Mycroft held back his grimace, and nodded. "And the last waltz." Two of the last three were his then. Plenty of time to explain and apologize.

Unfortunately talk is nearly impossible during a polka, and Mycroft was rather embarrassed to admit he spent most of the dance admiring Lady Anthea. She was light on her feet, her eyes were merry and her cheeks were rosy from exertion. She was a picture. She laughed and clapped her hands, and when the dance finished, she thanked him politely. He half-wondered if she had left the polka for him simply because she knew he could not dance it very well. Her next partner came along, and he bowed away, letting the other gentleman take her arm. Mycroft studied the broad-shouldered ape, gripping Lady Anthea's wrist and elbow. Mycroft frowned, suspicious. The floor was crowded, and he could not keep track of them standing in one place so he began to linger around the edge of the dance floor, watching for them to circle out again. Back and forth, he could see the hair-ornament in Lady Anthea's hair, and then in a flash the gentleman had pulled her off the floor, out to the dark hallway, and it surely had not been her idea! Mycroft was after them in a flash, pushing through the crowd as discreetly as possible.

Away from the noise and tinkling glassware, he followed on light feet. Low voices echoed in the dark hallway.

"I said let me go!"

"You ladies all love a good scandal," the man slurred.

"Let. Me. Go."

"Scream and I'll say it was your idea, hold still!"

"Get off me!" Off like a flash, Mycroft followed the noise of Anthea's cries. He came around the corner to find Anthea pressed against the columns on the balcony, scrabbling to get away. Mycroft launched himself at the man, hauling him off of her. The man was clearly inebriated and he struggled against Mycroft's grip. Lady Anthea kept well out of the way, staring wide-eyed as Mycroft struck her attacker twice, knocking him senseless. The man slumped over, quite still. Breathing heavily, Mycroft smoothed back his mussed hair, turning to Lady Anthea, still plastered to the columns.

"Are you alright?" he asked, catching his breath. Anthea stared at him, in the midst of fixing her skirts.

"My God," she breathed. "Is he dead?"

"No, unconscious," he nudged the body with the toe of his shoe.

"Thank you, Lord Holmes,"

"Mycroft," he said.

"What?"

"My name is Mycroft." Anthea blinked at him.

"Mycroft, thank you," she said sincerely.

"It was nothing," he answered. "Truly, I could not stand by, and I saw that no one saw him take you away."

"I'm awfully glad you did," she confessed. She took a step, and her knees gave way. Mycroft caught her, holding her upright.

"Steady," he murmured. She made to let go of him but he held her gently when her knees again threatened to buckle. "Catch your breath," he glanced at the man's still unconscious form, and then tugged the curtain across the entry to the balcony, hiding the body. "You've had a shock," Leading her to a nearby chair, he looked about. "There must be a servant nearby to fetch you something to drink- hello there!" in a moment a footman came around. "Fetch a glass of brandy, Lady Anthea has had a shock," the footman did as he was told and returned in a moment, Mycroft took the tumbler, waving the servant away. "Drink this,"

"Mother says I'm not allowed brandy," Anthea said, but Mycroft pushed the glass into her hands anyway.

"You'll feel better." She sipped it slowly, and the color in her cheeks began to return. She drank slowly, and he waited with her, until her hands stopped shaking. "I'm sorry," he found himself saying. She looked at him.

"What for?"

"For the terrible things I wrote in that letter," he answered. "I am quite ashamed of them, especially as they are not true. I wrote them out of anger, anger directed wrongfully at you."

"I was furious with my mother," she confessed, smiling. She looked up at him, eyes warm. "I accept your apology." They exchanged smiles then, shy and hopeful. Mycroft dared think she might have shared his feelings.

The music began again, and both turned towards the ballroom. Setting the glass on the floor, she stood, gathering her dance card.

"Come," she said and held her arm out for him to take. He quickly took it, tucking it safely in his. "I promised you the last dance."

"My mother is hosting her annual summer fete," he said, leading the way back to the ballroom. "I hope you will attend. There will be dancing, fireworks, and the garden maze will have lanterns strung up along the hedges for nightly walks…" Anthea smiled up at him.

"Am I to promise you the first waltz?"

"The first, second, third, and final waltz-" Almost scandalized that a man who was not courting her (yet) demanded so many dances, Anthea laughed, embarrassed. "-Of every ball in the foreseeable future." Mycroft finished, smiling down at her. She felt her face flush, almost disbelieving. They stood at the entrance of the ballroom, waiting for an opening on the floor. She waved for the footman to gather her train. When she was ready, Mycroft took her by the waist, and in a moment they were swept along with the other couples.

"Very well," Anthea said at last.

"I have a feeling you're going to force me to do something in return," Mycroft sighed, smiling indulgently at her.

"I'm afraid I'll need you to dance at least one polka with me."

"For how long?" he asked.

"For the foreseeable future." Was her simple reply. Mycroft groaned, shaking his head.

"My dear woman, that blasted dance shall be the death of me,"

"Nonsense, no one died from dancing."

"I am sure in all of history there have been plenty of people who died of dancing."

"I'd be quite horrified if you do," Anthea said. "I should never forgive you either, dying before you've had a chance to properly court me." The music slowed, and Mycroft silently thanked God. He looked down at Lady Anthea Whittaker in his arms.

"Very well," he said, once he had gathered his thoughts. The music picked up again, and he moved them along with it. "But I think we should decide that we cannot let our mothers think it was their doing." Anthea nodded, quite serious then.

"I agree."

"At last," he sighed.

"What?"

"Something we agree on." Mycroft smiled, genuinely this time. She shook her head, sighing.

"I thought we already agreed on something earlier."

"What?"

"A second chance, naturally." Her gaze was soft, and Mycroft decided not to push the argument. She was, in this case, absolutely correct.


End file.
